


heart songs for quarantine blues

by maevestrom



Series: Quarantine Blues [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, F/F, First Dates, Includes a Spotify Playlist!, Lesbianism, Long-Distance Relationship, Moving, Music, Neglectful Parents, Phone Calls & Telephones, Quarantine, Religion, Religious Guilt, Sapphism, Suicidal Thoughts, a quarantine and virus are mentioned as the reason for the divide, but it's not so prominent here, religious oppression, thats cool right?, video calls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom
Summary: In times like these, Marianne has nothing better to do than lie down, listen to music, and contemplate life. Nothing better, save for one person, the woman who has changed Marianne's life for the better after she was resigned to others- and herself- making it worse. Against the watchful, oppressive eyes of the church and her parents, she treats both of them to the best that they can get hundreds of miles away from each other, and as the world crashes around each other, they're bound together.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Series: Quarantine Blues [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725118
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	heart songs for quarantine blues

**Author's Note:**

> This is the spin-off I was so excited to share with everyone. I have fallen in love with Marianne, better late than never. I also was a girl who grew up in a restrictive cultlike religion, and though the timeline with that and that of my own queerness are separated, I still know what that religious guilt, the fearmongering, the bullying is like, and I am thankful for every day that I am not in that hell. 
> 
> Special thanks to Izzy, my girlfriend, who impromptu beta read this for me. I didn't expect it, but she is full of the loveliest surprises. I am so glad that we have something we did together, especially something as flagrantly gay as this. 
> 
> The music is right here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6PljEIVm4a6DjmUNAfEE9g?si=fTXyVTnYSk-KGf0TBl70Xw These are the songs relevant to the fic in some way. I hope you give it a listen but of course it is not required- just a little extra. 
> 
> Please, enjoy the story.

Something that used to comfort Marianne was the headlights of passing cars on the nearby street that bled into her bedroom- or wherever she was sleeping- late at night. She used to live on a busy street, so she knew that even if she was too many stories up to see them, the lights would blend into the room's shadows and the echoes of a streetlight miles away. 

She remembers sitting onto the couch next to Hilda, fast asleep from a long work day. Hilda isn't a worker- she'd much rather prefer to have someone else do menial things most of the time. Maybe she was also tired from doing Marianne's dishes or cleaning the living room because Marianne was- is- the only exception. It’s only deep into their friendship when she realizes why.

She remembers, after a certain point, just turning on some quiet and calming music and letting it ride. She would don a throw blanket and gently pull Hilda to her side. Hilda would stir just so, enough to wrap an arm around Marianne as she shared her blanket, sometimes pulling it to her side with a hazy  _ thanks, babe  _ before falling back asleep. Sometimes she'd fall across Marianne's lap and stay asleep, and Marianne would try to ignore how flustered she feels before covering Hilda up with the blanket. 

Sometimes Hilda would nuzzle into her neck or, Goddess forbid, her breasts and mumble something embarrassing and sweet that Marianne couldn't forget. Something that made her realize that Hilda wasn't just Marianne's friend like she thought. That they may never have been best friends as much as lovers-in-wait. 

And over time, before things fell apart, as they do, Marianne went from feeling discomfort, like she or Hilda were dragging each other into hell, to enjoying the moment and trying in vain to forget it, to trying to forgive herself for liking it. Eventually, she realized those moments, with Hilda in her arms as the shadows gain temporary fluorescence, like the Goddess watching and leaving her to make her own happiness, are moments she'd never forget. Like a song would claim as she breathed sleep into Marianne’s skin, Hilda was the only exception. A girl who was taught to be afraid of love, afraid of affection, afraid of this… found her only exception. 

In her hometown, there's none of that. Her parents live on a side street, and though Marianne deep down is grateful that she's not seeing too many cars drive by, she still loathes it. This place isn't home. It never has been. Home has never been the town where she was pressured out by the congregation that her parents still attend, her parents having let it happen. No one grabbed torches and pitchforks so her parents had plausible deniability; enough to pretend not to know why she left, enough to take her back during the pandemic as long as she "acted correctly" to "avoid facing the trouble that you said you felt".

Marianne spent the first week staying at their house wondering if they actually never noticed the stares, the voices that were too formal, the whispers just loud enough for Marianne to hear before they saw her and played nice, all of it a rather impressive job at gaslighting her. 

Yet the more she stayed, the more that her parents tried to pump her up full of the same style of belief that years ago led cars idling at her home, always following her wherever she walked, matching her speed, knowing she'd never take a baseball bat and swing at the headlights, threatening them to get away. Cars that would honk at her whenever she talked to a girl- like she had a chance in such a religious and toxic town- or stay as the drivers casually remind her, as her parents do now, that church was Sunday, and _ will you be there? You should be there. The virus is scary but the Goddess is mightier. _

To Marianne, it was that the virus is scary but the religious town is scarier.

She lies in bed as it strikes eleven at night, the music in her headphones playing soft instrumental music with titles like  _ Will You Ever Love Yourself?  _ that urge her to sleep, to shut her eyes and let her mind wander rather than imprison her.  _ If only I could,  _ she responds in her head.  _ Maybe over time, I’ll get better. _

It’s been three weeks after she had confessed her feelings to Hilda over email. Of course, Hilda returned them. Marianne had no doubt, though she was very confused that someone as unique in all the world as Hilda would return her feelings. Or, for that matter, how someone as bold as her would need Marianne to make the first move. 

It was, as she learned, because Hilda didn't want to jeopardize anything. She played it off so casually, but Marianne remembered how her hazy eyes looked pensive, unbelieving, even as she could barely think. How whenever she'd huddle into Marianne half-asleep, she'd mutter with all the force she could muster (so, like a lethargic sloth)  _ don't you dare go anywhere,  _ often directly into her chest, like Hilda was begging her heart itself. 

Marianne’s phone vibrates. It only does when she gets a message. It’s eleven at night, and Marianne should be asleep, but she isn’t yet. She looks and, to no surprise, it’s from Hilda. 

_ Hey darling _

Marianne scowls but can’t help but let it turn into a smile.  _ Just because I’m awake doesn’t give you the right to be awake, sweetheart.  _

Then, as she quickly decides that her parents being asleep (they go to sleep at eight at night, which is a mercy, as far as Marianne is concerned) means that they can, she texts  _ Let me get on my headset and we can vc if you want. _

_ Oh, groovy!  _

Marianne chuckles to herself. Groovy? It’s  _ groovy?  _ Goddess preserve Hilda and her corny outdated little turns of reference that not even she understands the reason for. Hilda doesn't even really notice the weird little quirks that Marianne adores in her. The thing she loves most about them is the spontaneity. 

As she puts on her little headset and turns it on, she sits up on her bed and holds the phone in front of her face before pressing the video chat button. 

After a few seconds, Hilda pops up.  _ Hey, hot stuff. _

Marianne shushes her forcefully, hissing  _ I didn't check my headset yet!  _ She takes it off while Hilda faintly says something and finds that it's working and Hilda isn't being heard out loud. She flashes a thumbs-up and puts it back on.  _ Sorry,  _ she whispers.  _ You can never be too careful, you know? _

_ I seriously can't wait till you get out of there,  _ Hilda breathes.

_ You and I both, sweetie.  _

_ But thanks for VC'ing me, babe. I really needed it tonight. _

She notices Hilda more clearly, the way she’s sitting on the couch in dim light, phone perched on the coffee table. Her tank top of choice looks dusty and ragged, and she herself looks too wired to be sleepy.  _ Hard night? _

Hilda nods.  _ Just, like… ominous feeling. Like something bad is gonna happen.  _ With a sigh:  _ I don't know, babe, I think I'm losing it. _

Hilda hasn't been okay lately. No one has, but Marianne hasn't seen this side from Hilda before they re-established communication. Sometimes Marianne has to remind herself that some form of this anxiety has always been within Hilda- her restlessness, her snappiness, her compulsive need to appease people even when trying to sucker them- and she's only showing Marianne now. 

_ I think it'll be fine,  _ Marianne notes,  _ but I understand feeling anxious. I think I've had a lot of restless nights here as well.  _

_ Definitely,  _ Hilda says quickly.  _ I just… don't think they're the same.  _

_ How so? _

_ Well…  _ Hilda waves her hand in circles. It's clear by the scowl on their face that she's unhappy with the answer they're about to provide.  _ I mean… I feel like this is a familiar situation for you. All of this is new to me and I don't really know what to do or what to expect. _

_ That's fair.  _ Hilda generally doesn't like bringing Marianne's depression up to her, much like she can often struggle to bring up her own anxiety, but Marianne is more okay with it than Hilda ever knew.  _ I think that we have one thing in common, though, and it can be the thing that keeps me up at night more than anything. _

_ What's that? _

Marianne looks up at the ceiling, closing her eyes and gripping her phone like the vice grip on her heart, so hard it could bleed.

_ We both want to get the hell out of this, and never come back. _

_ \--- _

Marianne, admittedly, has been used to lying in bed, staring at the wall, doing nothing. Depression works in boring ways before any other, Marianne finds. Some of it works in the urges to commit suicide in the worst of times, but even in times where you decide to live, it can still punish you, zapping you of your motivation and leaving behind a giant nothing. Nothing, except for the beast that everyone has decided that you are. 

Eventually, Marianne would start to work past that. It was a base hierarchy. She had work to do, so she did her job. She had friends to see, so she occasionally would. She had some music that she kept to herself, a few songs she learned by heart. Then she moved, and her new job was one she learned to love with all of her being. Her friends became genuine, unconditional, and lasting, and there was at least one she couldn't live without. The secret CD became a streaming service she included in her expenses, turning seventeen secret songs into a playlist of hundreds of songs she shared with Hilda and often listened to herself,  _ heart songs for quarantine blues.  _

She'd have her job with Dorte at the horse ranch when she went back to the city, and the caretaker- a gruff older drunk named Jeralt- often sent photos of Dorte to her to reassure her, because as rough as he is, he's got a good heart. For now, she has her music on headphones, hidden from her family. She's twenty-five and they can't stop her, but it's their house and… well, she can't trust them.

The last thing she has got, they would never approve of. 

It’s been long enough for Marianne to acknowledge that she is with Hilda. What threw her for a loop was actually how close Hilda already was. They were just friends. You know, just friends who slept on top of each other and spent almost all of their time together. Where one would call the other beautiful, do work for her, and make sure she knew that she was the most important person in her life. Where the other would curate music from her, intentionally inspire the jewelry she made, and let down her own walls around her. 

That all hit Marianne when she was forced to leave, a kiss on the cheek acting as her farewell to a Hilda who felt that she had a right to be stunned. When she realized in her first week back into a town that loomed around every corner, ready to finish the job, that she loved another woman. That if it were up to this town, she’d be considered the most disgusting resident. If you asked this town, she’s no better than the shy depressed woman who hated herself and considered herself a beast, just like they wanted. That if there was no Hilda, she’d somehow be better. 

Marianne remembers begging the Goddess to give her the strength to meet her even before she made the mistake of coming out to her parents after she had moved out to a small ranch house on the edge of town. When she went to church as a kid and saw her friends, these young girls dressed in the formality their parents assigned them, their blonde hair in buns and ponytails, and felt an odd feeling in her gut. When her friends would sleep over and bring sleeping bags and she would wish that they’d get up on the bed with her and just hold her, stay with her until the fear that kept her up went away. When she realized that she was so lonely, either with living a lie or being isolated with the truth, that there was no escape. 

\---

_ How have you held up here? _

Hilda always asks Marianne the same question because she's always noted and, indeed, felt guilty over the differences in their living situations. Hilda has her own home, three people who could help make up rent money even with their jobs being nonessential, ways for her to keep busy, the warmth and security of her special relationship with Dorothea, and no judgmental eyes on her except for her own. Marianne has… this. 

_ I guess… I've survived?  _ Marianne shrugs.  _ You're right; it's not unfamiliar. I've been in a lot of situations that feel like this, you know.  _

Hilda sighs.  _ Yeah, uhm…  _

_ It's okay,  _ Marianne tells her after she goes quiet.  _ It hurts but… I'm not weak. I'm not scared by the novelty. The bad things… are bad, but what knocked me off of my feet before was that I wasn't prepared for them. Now I have strategies. I'm not fumbling in the dark…  _ With closed eyes and a devilish smirk:  _ and as soon as quarantine lifts, I'm leaving. It won't take me five years this time. _

Five years of misery for a couple of years of peace… it sounds inequitable, but to Marianne's heart, it is a fair trade.

_ You're so cool,  _ Hilda says. 

Marianne cracks her eyes open, surprised.  _ I… am? _

_ Just listen to you talk. It's so stone-cold and badass.  _

Marianne shakes her head.  _ I don't agree at all, to be honest.  _

Hilda leans on the couch’s arm.  _ Oh? Why not?  _

_ I…  _ she closes her eyes again.  _ I'm still so afraid. It's… not all gone, the shame. It took me five years to leave home and the whole time I thought that if I could just be everything they wanted, I could be safe. But I couldn't be everything they wanted. I knew that.  _ There's a choke in her voice. Goddess damn it.  _ A-and… I thought to myself "what if I gave myself everything I wanted?" You know? Because it seemed so easy. It seemed so easy when being what they wanted me to be was impossible. _

Finally, Marianne opens her eyes again. She reckons she will close them again soon.

_ What was ev- wait.  _ Hilda looks away from the screen for a moment.  _ Oh. Oh, duh, yeah. _

Marianne nods solemnly.  _ Yeah…  _ she whispers in a reticent tone.  _ Being back here… just reminds me of it all. Sometimes I forget how much I changed. That I  _ can  _ leave. That's…  _ With a sharp breath, she admits  _ that's why I wasn't talking to you for a few weeks after I got here. _

_ Oh…  _ Hilda wraps her hands around her nose and mouth.  _ I just thought it was, like…  _ She bows her head, setting her hands by her sides.  _ Well, I didn't know. And I was, like, I could just talk her out of it if she let me. But…  _

_ It's not really something I  _ can  _ leave,  _ Marianne explains. There might be tears in her eyes.  _ It's always gonna be there. _

_ I think Claude was telling me something like that,  _ Hilda claims.  _ Like, for people who can't get out of bad situations, they instead just get better at finding ways to get through. That's what he always said about people in poverty. If you go through the same struggle a lot in life, you get resourceful.  _

Marianne puts her finger on her chin. She's not really been the best at keeping her hands off her face, but she reckons that to be the least of her concerns.  _ I don't know if I thought about it that way. I guess I've never been good at thinking about hypothetical people.  _ Not that her parents let her around too many real people after a while.

_ Don't tell him I said this, cause he'll get a big head, but…  _ Hilda looks around her, making Marianne snort.  _ He's actually really smart, okay? End tweet. _

Marianne giggles.  _ I've always thought so.  _

Hilda snorts.  _ I'm so glad he's not awake. Anyway, what I was saying was that people go through the same things a lot, they get better at dealing with them. Or they try new ways and decide whether or not they work. And with all of this hell, that's what I've noticed about you. It makes me proud. It's like…  _ Hilda swallows.  _ I really see a Marianne who's ready to live after this.  _

Marianne sheds her first tear. She still doesn't know what the goddess is like, and she thought she understood why she would never grant Marianne the strength to meet her. Suicide was a sin, but then again, so was loving women, or so she was told. It made sense, then, that the Goddess would abandon her. She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. 

Maybe the Goddess granted her the strength to live instead.

_ Hilda, thank you.  _ She really is a sweetheart. A suitable stand-in for the Goddess, she decides.  _ I… that means a lot.  _

_ I mean every word of it, babe.  _

Marianne shakes tears out of her eyes. When they overwhelm her, she wipes them instead. Thankfully, they run out quickly, leaving her in a room made of white and shadows that never break for lapses of light. Yet, this darkness, just like the ones back in her new home, has Hilda as the only permanent color.

This time, Marianne knows she can do better. 

_ Give me just a second, okay? I'm gonna… well, you're gonna probably freak out, but… I used to do this a lot as a kid. _

Hilda's eyes widen.  _ Oh, Gods, what are you doing? _

_ Nothing that no one under the age of eighteen hasn't attempted in my town, Hilda. I'll be alright.  _ She gets out of bed. She's dressed in her pajama set, powder blue with pinstripes. It's not the most ideal climbing material but she'll be fine. 

Her shoes are on the floor next to her. She goes to slip them on, Hilda not saying anything. When Marianne turns to her phone, she's a mixture of awestruck and concerned.

Marianne picks it up.  _ Give it just a second.  _ She places it in her bra, where it sticks out of her pajama shirt facing away from her, giving Hilda a first-person view.

_ You still wear a bra?  _ Hilda asks. Then, finding something to be scandalized about:  _ To  _ bed?!

_ Hush, you. I won't have you judging my life choices.  _ Before Hilda can crack a response, Marianne cracks her window open. Then, open all the way. 

_ What are you-  _ then, Hilda gasps.  _ Wait. You're not. _

_ I am. _

Then she does. 

\---

The roof of the house sits at approximately a twenty-five-degree angle. Comforting to sit or even lie against, with the tile of the roofing enough friction to keep her there. A tree just outside the window, a hundred-year-old elm that keeps her secrets, blocks some of the view but also helps her get out. It's certainly more helpful than Hilda shrieking her name as she starts the climb.  _ If anything's going to distract me, it's that,  _ she claims with a huff, though she mostly protests so Hilda doesn't wake up the others. 

The stars above her and fluorescent nightlights in the background of Hilda's living room are the only light that Marianne can see from up here. She has taken Hilda out of her bra (an odd sentence, but likely one she'll have to get used to) and set her on the roof next to her. The stars catch her attention as she's gone quiet, and every time that Marianne looks at the phone, Hilda's staring through it into the night sky. 

Then:  _ just give me a second, Marianne. _

_ Don't tell me you have trees to climb too.  _

Hilda giggles as she bursts through the door and shuts it. She's on the porch of their apartment and sits on a lawn chair, aiming her own phone at the stars before her.  _ They're smoggy and gray, but… you ever get bored of the night sky there, you have ours here. _

_ Thanks, sweetheart.  _

It's quiet for a couple of minutes. Marianne does find herself looking to the side through her phone more than she expects. It's true that the night sky where she's at is clearer, more vivid, but something about the city seems homier in its smokiness, its inelegance. The skies here always have a hint of inauthenticity, an uncanny valley that makes her worry that it's a projection that will slowly start collapsing around her. 

_ Gimme a second-  _ Hilda picks up her phone and turns it back to her face as she messes with it.

_ Fine,  _ Marianne sighs,  _ but I'm still gonna look at you, I hope you know. _

Hilda blushes.  _ Hey, if tired bitches with oily skin do it for you.  _

_ This one does.  _

Hilda sputters for a second, collapsing against the chair.  _ Marianne. I swear.  _

Marianne giggles. Whoever said sapphics can't flirt must never have seen how easy it is to flirt with one. 

Hilda gets her bearings and presses something on the surface of her phone. When Marianne peers into her screen it looks like Hilda's trying to poke her. After a bit, she hears tinny but loud music coming out of Hilda's phone. It's hard to hear, but strangely homey, making her think of Claude's music during their get-togethers, like the one they had just before the whole pandemic. It makes her think of a tight space with eight people, three couples and one more in a nearby room alone. It makes her think of Dorothea kissing Petra so often it was like she was drowning every moment she was not, water ravaging her lungs. It makes her think of looking at Hilda curled into her in a way that Marianne feels should violate friendly personal space, wondering  _ why won't you kiss me like tha-  _

_ Boop!  _ Hilda pokes her screen where Marianne's nose is. Marianne honest-to-goodness covers her nose defensively, making Hilda giggle. Feeling immature, Marianne sticks out her tongue.

_ Wow, that's…  _ Hilda struggles for a word.  _ Uh, long. Anyway! I hope you don't mind me turning on some music! I figured you'd like it.  _

Huh. That causes Marianne to focus on her headset to hear what's coming through. Hilda turns it up, saying  _ Dora and Bernie won't hear it and I honestly don't really give a fuck if Claude does.  _ It being louder makes it sound more familiar until she hears a plucky piccolo rhythm and rising guitars set to beating bass drums. That  _ is  _ familiar; it's a song she loves, she thinks. 

_ Is that? _

_ Chateau? Yeah, and thank the Goddess that Dora's asleep or she'd pitch a fit. That song used to be so overplayed but-  _

_ I always loved it.  _ Besides, Marianne has a certain nostalgic fondness for radio hits from the year before she left home. They were the only escape she had from the oppressive religious nature of the town. 

_ Me too,  _ Hilda says. 

The two of them eschew speech to sit and listen to the song, Hilda placing her phone back under the stars. It feels… nice. This, technically, is probably their first date, but despite both scratching the back half of their twenties, this feels like a rebellious teenage rendezvous. She's escaping from her room and the watchful eyes of the church to go stargazing with her new girlfriend while listening to pop music. 

The radio from Hilda's side of the call finishes the song when expected, and it's replaced by a soft, melodic piano. Wait… this song is also familiar. She didn't find this song until later in life. A soft ghostlike coo gives her chills, and she closes her eyes. Damn it, is she going to cry again… 

_ Hilda,  _ she breathes. 

_ Marianne? _

_ This is my playlist, isn't it?  _

_ You mean the quarantine one? _

Marianne doesn't respond. She's not sure that she can. Part of it is the song-  _ Kettering  _ always makes her unspeakably sad, a song she saves when she's held in her sorrow for so long that her ribs feel near breaking. But the rest, she can't define. It's not sadness, happiness, fear, or excitement.

It's… something to do with feeling accepted.

_ Yeah,  _ Hilda answers for her.

_ Th-thank you, sweetheart. You're… just so kind. _

_ I'm only as kind as you deserve, love.  _

_ Heart songs for quarantine blues _ is, in reality, nothing special. It's a list that she made for this boring time and adds songs to when she's down or depressed or just flat  _ bored,  _ which she often is here. She shared it with Hilda after they started talking again, in part to share a part of her heart and hope that Hilda accepted, and also to give Hilda some rest when everything was too much for her, which it often was. 

Marianne wasn't used to being accepted. Obviously, she'd never gotten acceptance at home, and she expected Hilda to grow weary of her and slip away. It probably wouldn't be obvious. Still, maybe she would reply to Marianne's messages less often, not visit as often, and drift away to become a relic of the past. When it was clear she wasn't going and when Marianne could feel roses and spice radiating from her skin, her words, and her eyes, she wondered why Hilda said nothing, why she didn't confess. Was Marianne too daunting to love? Did Hilda regret it?

No. No, she did not.

The song drops all of its quiet and haunted pretenses and sears into an overwhelming beat, shocking Marianne back to reality.  _ Hilda  _ is the first thing she gasps like she just emerged from the water, baptism complete. 

_ Everything okay, Mariberry?  _

Marianne blushes. Mariberry? That's a new one on her. Anyway:  _ Yeah, I'm good. I'm just… really glad you listened to this.  _ A beat.  _ You did, right? _

_ Definitely,  _ Hilda promises.  _ I mean… you made it, right? Of course, I did. _

_ Oh, you're just saying that,  _ Marianne half-jokes.

_ No, I totally did,  _ she insists.  _ Like, here's the thing, Mari. Sometimes you tell me things you went through, but I'm all emotion and you're kinda factual. I wanted to see if any of these songs, like… reflected who you were, how you felt, what emotion made you add it to this list.  _

_...really?  _

_ Definitely! That's… a little goofy, isn't it? _

_ Certainly not, Hild. Certainly not. In fact…  _ Marianne is honored, but there's a difference between just saying she's honored and showing her honor, just like Hilda could say  _ I love you  _ and her tone could say  _ as friends  _ and her actions could say  _ damn, I wish I was your lover!  _ (Another song she added to that list before she left.) 

_ Pick a song. Your favorite from the list.  _

_ Ooh. Well, damn, let me see…  _ Hilda searches the tracks, scrolling without lifting the phone, and finds the one that Marianne knew she would.  _ Ooh, babe, for real? Hell yeah!  _

As soon as she presses it, Marianne smiles. It's a set of airy synths in a tone that almost sounds mocking, but too cool to be. When the beat kicks in, Hilda can't help but sing along.  _ We're all bored, we're all so tired of everything.  _

She listens to Hilda try to sing more, but she yawns instead.  _ Can't keep it going,  _ she says, like Marianne could ever forget Hilda singing this song from the bathroom the morning after another night of staying over on Marianne's couch. The steam from her shower leaked out of the slightly ajar door as, muffled, Hilda scream-sang  _ Cause baby, I could build a ca-stle!  _ Her voice was rough and untrained, but Marianne sat on the couch alone, smiling to herself as she pretended to read a magazine. A part of her wondered why every morning couldn't be so nice, why her life could never be this nice during times that didn't matter until Hilda was in it.

_ Remember the CD I played for you when we first met? _

_ When that asshole Felix was taking forever and a day to get back to shop?  _ There was no reason for Hilda to bring that up save to vent, but Marianne has long since been used to it and giggles.

_ Yeah. I mean, basically that CD was full of the only songs I could take with me on the drive over. I didn't bring my phone, and the radio was out on most of the drive, so… it was those songs. _

Hilda oohs.  _ So those were it, huh? Is that why they're the first songs on your list? _

Marianne smiles, officially satisfied that Hilda  _ does  _ know the list.  _ Yeah. And, like, none of them were religious songs but… they were safe, mostly. A lot of folk songs, a lot of gospel-sounding songs, some that sounded religious without being. I… guess at first I’d feel worse about myself if I ran far away from the faith, so those were my baby steps. _

Hilda hums understandingly, a trait she must have picked up from Dorothea.  _ Still like how you sang them,  _ she says, and Marianne smiles.  _ Were you ever on church choir? _

_ Oh, you flatterer, you.  _ Marianne knows she doesn't have a voice for choir. Hilda just giggles.  _ But, like, I'm really glad you played that song because, like… I got it because of you. You played it a few times and sang it once-  _

_ Fuck me, I really did. _

_ You  _ did,  _ and I kept thinking about that moment. And about that song. It's the type that church girl Marianne would, you know, be embarrassed by. But instead… I just, it reminded me of you. I could never be embarrassed by you.  _

Hilda pauses the song.  _ I… I mean… that's… the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Marianne. _

Marianne can't argue. It might be the sweetest thing she's ever said, period.  _ I'm working on that,  _ she confesses.  _ I think I want to be as sweet as you deserve.  _

_ Mari…  _

_ Just… bear with me until I get to that point, please?  _

Hilda sighs dreamily.  _ Just try and make me leave, baby. _

_ 'Don't you dare go anywhere,'  _ Marianne remembers Hilda mumbling into her breast during multiple late nights, an incantation she repeated until it stuck.

Marianne giggles. You're  _ the sweetheart.  _ Then, she gestures to the sky. Her parents are certainly asleep; Marianne is above her own room and not a loud enough talker for anything to carry over. She has nothing to worry about save for sneaking inside before they wake up, then acting like she isn't even considering making herself happy by her terms, that she'll fake it some more by theirs. 

It's her time. 

It's their time.

_ Wanna just… stargaze some more? _

Hilda responds by pressing play on her own phone. Marianne knows the  _ hell yes  _ is implied, but it's nice to hear her say it in real life.

A woman coos rhythmically as a guitar starts to play in the background, and the stars above Marianne don't look like they are about to fall on her. She's not waiting for the Goddess to knock them on her, laughing wickedly. Not because the Goddess doesn't exist, but because… maybe the Goddess loves her. 

_ Take me back to the night we met,  _ the song dares her. Does she even want to remember such a time? A time where nothing was certain and everything was gone? A time where Marianne's job was an interview where she had to bring her own saddle and hope her love of her aunt's barnyard animals carried over? A time where Marianne's few belongings were in her coupe that she strategically parked at different locations every night blocks away from the hostel she stayed in? 

Marianne was new to the city, too used to fighting, too exhausted to keep it up, and too broken to realize that she no longer had to. 

Apparently that's where she is right now.

She remembers the night that she met Hilda because she needed a saddle. (From a man named Felix Fraldarius, not her, but that's neither here nor there.) She wanted the job on that therapeutic horse ranch, and she'd never tell anyone that it was as therapeutic for the wounds in her heart as anyone.

Either way, she needed a saddle. It was three digits of Marianne's already sparse money, but it was worth the risk. 

She barely remembers anything about picking the saddle as much as she remembers waiting. She remembers Hilda, an artisan in the same little converted warehouse they called a shop. She was a jewelry designer wearing one of her own necklaces, pink and black with jewels mosaiced into flower shapes. She had a bag on her shoulder with a bunch of badges that Marianne knows would immediately have her run out of town, especially the one with two venus symbols and the word  _ Liberation! _ She recalls Hilda's eyes widening in a specifically interested way, eyes that looked her up and down and found her interesting. Pretty. Desirable. 

Marianne was trained to hate that feeling and to be scared of her.

She didn't stop it, even though she kind of did and kind of was.

Hilda walked up to her while she waited. Their conversation took thirty seconds to get interesting. Hilda could figure out that Marianne wasn't interested that way, even as gay as she was. But she didn't give up. They just talked about different things. 

They talked about growing up queer. Hilda talked about her upbringing in ways that seemed to disregard the microaggressions that Marianne hated for her. Yeah, her brother's a jackass about Hilda dating girls and calls her a slut as a joke, but he's really sweet otherwise ( _ though if he were sweeter,  _ Marianne thinks,  _ he wouldn't do that) _ . 

Marianne was sparse with details. She was a new city resident from a small town in the countryside who wanted to test her luck in the big city. All of it true, but not even remotely near the whole truth. Hilda didn't know Marianne was homeless until she was in her place for two months. 

Then somehow, the conversation turned to music. Hilda excitedly threw recommendations in the air that Marianne knew she hadn't a prayer in the world to catch, but maybe now would end up on her playlist. Marianne just said she had a mixed CD of a few songs that she held dear. It was the only music she had listened to since leaving home; the only non-worship music that was, in any way, hers. Things she didn't say then, but things that are known now.

(At the moment, she hears the song change to one of the ones from the CD, a fuzz guitar over a soft but hastened clomping of drums. It's Ben Howard, a comfort for her during her last days at home, one that she still clings to now.)

Hilda dug a boombox out of her office, presenting it like a hand model presents a blender on a game show. Marianne giggled, she remembers that, and she remembers the look on Hilda's face when she did. Marianne always wondered if something clicked then, but didn't think herself that lucky or that deserving. 

(Dorothea once told her, with a wink that carried its own special message, that Hilda would do anything for a special girl, and Marianne simply nodded with a blush. When Dorothea said that, it was during the time in their relationship where she wondered if Hilda still had feelings for her like she did on the night that they met. Then she realized that it never changed, how far Hilda would go for her.)

As the songs played from Marianne's CD in Hilda's boombox, Hilda snapped her fingers to rhythm despite not knowing any of them, and Marianne remembered a thought breaking through- this could happen.  _ But it couldn't,  _ her thoughts insisted,  _ because it's wrong.  _ But she didn't believe that. That's why she left.  _ You left because you were a monster and no one could stand the sight of you.  _ Nor she of them! Because they'd see a moment like this, two women with a passive interest in each other- the beauty, the history, the personality that they perceived the other to have- and find it disgusting. 

Marianne will never get that. 

She'll never get what there isn't to like about how she quietly sang along to get the cold and cruel inner voice out of her head, that  _ life hasn't been very kind to me lately, but I suppose it's a push for moving on,  _ and Hilda looked at her in a way that bound them, a flash that Marianne convinced herself wasn't there, one that didn't go away even as she sang  _ in time, the sun's gonna shine on me nicely.  _

By the time she sang  _ something tells me good things are comin', and I ain't gonna not believe,  _ the flash was in her own body, the way her blood boiled, the way that under the stars in the parking lot by the warehouse waiting for she-couldn't-remember-then, Hilda gave her signs she couldn't mistake, and Marianne knew that it was possible that one day, she'd be okay with how happy it made her.

At that moment, she sang _I am looking for freedom, looking for freedom,_ and as she glanced at Hilda’s bag with the badges all around the interlinked Venus signs and the word _Liberation,_ she knew that she wasn't there yet, but that one day she would be. And looking back now, she could only imagine Hilda excitedly telling her friend back home who sang, who was in a play- _her name's Dorothea,_ _have you heard of her?_ \- about this amazing blue-haired sweetie who she met at work and Marianne can't believe that's _her._

_ (Hold it in, now let's go dancing, I do believe we're only passing through.) _

She wonders if Hilda anticipated being the best friend Marianne ever had. If she expected to wait for Marianne to be okay with her feelings. If she expected to help Marianne shop for functional furniture while stressing that  _ I could have totally helped, I'm your  _ friend  _ and I love you, Mari.  _ She certainly didn’t expect to feel bad about not telling her.

She remembers when Hilda met the recently-christened Dorte, named after a scriptural hero who possessed the Goddess' blessing to heal. and told him  _ you better take good care of her.  _ She remembers when Hilda ate every other dinner late-night at Marianne's because she never sleeps regularly, fighting until she conked out. She wonders if Hilda knows how adorable she was passed out on her couch with her mouth open. If she knew that once, Marianne stole a kiss on her forehead as she slept and confirmed to herself,  _ okay, you're in love with her, now when will you accept that you deserve this? _

And for the first time, the answer was  _ soon. _

And even though she regressed when she came home and learned that the best way to avoid hassle was to stay at her parents' house and pretend she didn't worship at the altar of Sappho as well as the Goddess like they were mutually exclusive… everything came back that night when they were all playing games online together. Her, Hilda, Bernadetta, Linhardt, Claude, Dimitri, Dorothea, and Petra. Though she knew them through group dinners before, it was then that Marianne understood the concept of them as a found family. There was something so special about having a group of people who accepted her, who congregated around her and laid hands on her and prayed for healing with their kindness and love.

It was also when she saw Hilda for the first time in a month. Not as a vision, or as a fantasy, or as the girl that she was trained to hate- the type of girl who the church would call a heretic, a wayward harlot- but as a tired, made-up, stubbornly beautiful vision of the goddess. She was the loveliest girl that Marianne had met until that moment.

The goddess sang to her.  _ You are in love. You are in love, and it's beautiful. It’s everything I ever wanted for you. _

And Mari believed. 

Marianne doesn’t know where her story is now, even- especially- with Hilda. She’s caught between what to say and what she really means. Maybe she’s not supposed to figure it out right now. Maybe finally rebelling is a momentous first step, one she should follow up on. She will… but not tonight. Tonight, she and her lovely girlfriend Hilda are stargazing. 

_ Is it weird that even though you’re just on my phone, it feels kind of like you’re here with me? _

_ No, love.  _

Marianne feels the same way. Like the phone is Hilda as she is. That she could lean up next to her, cover her body, and kiss her lips like fruit too sweet to be forbidden. That they could jump from the roof, run through the fields, and Marianne would be happy no matter where the road led. 

_ It makes a lot of sense to me.  _

\---

They stay out until three in the evening. A lot of the time they’re silent, letting the music and the stars communicate for them instead. Sometimes they make small talk- Hilda talks about her friends or her cheap imitation of jewelry that’s too low-budget and low-effort to be the real thing during this pandemic. Marianne assures her that it's just fine. Hilda still makes pretty pieces; prettier around her neck.

Marianne updates her on Dorte via Jeralt and about becoming friends with Bernadetta, who's just on the other side of Hilda’s wall. Hilda says she’s surprised that they weren’t already, seeing as even Bernadetta (blunt as ever) labels them depression twins. Marianne gets it, though. After all, apocalypse, literally translated, is  _ revelation _ \- best to learn new things as they are given to her instead of trying to wrest them to her control. 

Sometimes, when they talk, Marianne gets a feeling of youthful spite and rebellion mixed with a feeling of longing. In her headset, for her ears only, Hilda whispers things that no one else will know, things she is too scared of her own voice to answer, but things that she wants so badly, things she did ever since Ingrid slept over so tantalizingly close to her bed as a teenager. They're things that still feel sinful, but for now… she feels beauty in them. 

Hilda notices the discomfort of their novelty that Marianne bears and says  _ I can stop if you want,  _ and Marianne says  _ don't you dare. _

At other times, Marianne sings the songs playing in her wispy, curious, melodic tone. She sings lines that in some reality might be about the goddess, but as she sings  _ she’s coming to set me free, and I was lost and now I’m found,  _ this time, she decides that it is not. 

Neither are happy when Marianne fights herself and says that she needs to turn in. Marianne already fears that by requesting time away from Hilda, she threw away time where she could have given and exchanged the love that they needed to steady each other as the world fell around them. Time where, at the very least, Marianne could shamelessly fantasize about resting in her arms. 

She worries that Hilda will condemn her. Instead, Hilda just says, not without a disappointed half-frown, that she had a great time tonight. Marianne realizes that she made another story in the book about Marianne and Hilda, best friends to lovers. Hilda is Marianne's literary hero, the best person that Marianne had ever met, the person that inspired Marianne to fight for herself as she is.

She looks forward to when they can look back on this from a pedestal of years and security as the good old days. They can remember how the fluorescent lights lit up their faces when, at the time, they never appreciated how the glow brought them to life.

A stroke of inspiration hits Marianne.  _ Hilda, can you do me an odd favor? _

_ Anything you need.  _ A statement, not a question.

Marianne thinks and blushes, a tad embarrassed. Still, Hilda won't judge her- she won't, she won't,  _ she won't _ \- so she says  _ can you point the camera at the road for a minute? _

Hilda doesn't let her tone give away whether or not she finds it an odd request as she says  _ Yeah, that sounds good.  _ With no resistance, she points the phone at the nearby road. The road is cloaked in night, interrupted by fluorescent streetlights. Once or twice, a car passes through, its headlights cloaking the skin of the night for moments. There's no more music than the same quiet ambient instrumentals with names like  _ Then The Quiet Explosion  _ and  _ We Forget Who We Are.  _ It's beautiful. 

_ Thank you, Hilda.  _

Hilda brings the phone back to her face. Light scrapes the edges of her eyes. It's beautiful.  _ No problem, babe. You just… wanted to remember home a little? _

This is home. It's so beautiful because it's home.

_ Yeah. I think that was it. _

_ I wish you were home.  _

Marianne nods. Their phones are lifted at angles where they make eye contact.  _ Me too. But I know my way there. _

They're silent for a bit before Hilda admits, voice choking,  _ I'm gonna miss you so damn much.  _

_ It's okay, sweetheart.  _ Hilda sobs once and, doing the best she can for a girl who's only calmed a horse, Marianne shushes her gently. She's a bit alarmed that Hilda is coming apart, but honored that she's finally letting it show.  _ It'll all be okay. _

_ It will, yeah,  _ Hilda insists to herself, voice raw.

_ Besides, this might happen again soon,  _ Marianne promises.  _ Just… we’ll know when right? When we need each other? _

Hilda nods.  _ I think we will.  _ She acts like they both won’t all the time.  _ Good night, Marianne, I love you. _

Surprised as she is to hear those three words, she still says _ I love you back. _ They blow a kiss at each other and Marianne feels that she belongs somewhere. 

Hilda hangs up first. She always was responsible for two. Marianne slips away down the tree and through the window into the room, closing it just so. She sets her phone on the charger and her headset on its own, turned off. She's surprisingly tired. It's only a surprise because her body is burning, her ears are buzzing, and her mind is racing, but despite it all, she's tired. 

She'll rest for now.

She knows her way home and can follow it when the time is right.


End file.
